I have to create. By the time I get to sleep at the end of the day, there sure had better be more in this world than when I awoke. I have high standards for my work, particularly when others are depending on me, and I can think of fewer things more rewarding than working with those who push the envelope pursuing a shared passion. I consider programming the sharpest tool in my command to fashion what I want to make: games.
I feel fortunate to have found a career where I can work long hours and enjoy every moment. Programming, even on projects not of my choosing, has never seemed like “work”—I don't see that sad little man stamping his timecard and heading into the factory when I sit down at the computer. For years, I thought of programming games as an almost guilty pleasure, a distraction from “serious” study. Fortunately, the game industry has come into its own and, as the game-playing generation grows up and begins to demand more sophisticated games, is garnering a respect that would have seemed impossible just two decades ago. Now my play is my work, and I couldn't be happier.
One of my approaches to understanding the world is to turn it upside down and shake it to see what comes loose. If something is hastily done or makes no sense, out it tumbles. This turns out to be a good way to find the sloppiness and inefficiency in my own life, particularly my work. It also gives me a rather unique way of solving problems and a sense of humor just shy of absurd.
When I'm not hastening upper-back trouble in front of a computer screen, I'm probably writing music, playing racquetball, hanging out with interesting people, or struggling with my crippling addiction to Mountain Dew. I might even be sleeping.